Several weekends ago, our little family traveled to historic Belmont, North Carolina, to attend the wedding of some friends. The wedding itself was lovely and featured the most original entertainment I’ve ever beheld at a matrimonial event. It was, however, the comments of my children that made the event truly worthwhile (that seems to be the case with most things, actually). For example:
Mallory showed her deep love of hotels by taking a deep breath and exclaiming, every time we entered the lobby: “Smell that hotel goodness!”
Whilst driving through the unfamiliar streets of Belmont on the way to the rehearsal dinner, Mallory spied a Burger King. “Ugh!” she said. “I hate Burger King fries!”
“Yeah!” said Chris, agreeing heartily. “Burger King fries are the worst.”
“They’re yucky!” Mallory said.
“They’re disgusting!” Chris added.
“Actually,” Phoebe interjected, “I like Burger King onion rings.”
“Now the onion rings are okay,” Chris conceded.
“Yeah, but not the fries. Ewww,” Mallory said.
“Their burgers aren’t too bad,” Chris said.
“Yeah, what I like to do?” Mallory said, “I like to get a burger at Burger King and then go to McDonald’s for fries. Cause they have the best fries.”
“When have you ever done that?” I asked, rather stupefied by this display of fast-food connoisseurship.
“Oh, you know,” Mallory said vaguely. A few minutes later, she said, “You know what? Every girl in my class likes Hannah Montana except for Jane.”
“I bet Jane likes Burger King fries,” Chris said without missing a beat, and Mallory laughed her head off.
Upon arrival at the rehearsal dinner, we gave the kids a mini-talking-to about our expectations for their behavior. “It was very nice of Millie and Warren to invite us to this dinner,” I said, “so you both need to use good manners and act nice. Understand?”
They understood. We went in the restaurant, we mingled, we found our seats. A waitress approached and asked if we needed drinks. “I’d like an iced tea, please,” said Mallory, and then said, “Thank you very much” when she received it. I patted her on the shoulder and smiled to show her I approved of her manners. She leaned over and whispered, “You wanted a good attitude? Well there you go.”
Phoebe developed an irrational fear of the painting in our bathroom:
We had to cover it with a towel for the duration of our stay.
Mallory, for her part, developed a Howard-Hughes-ish fear of germs. “Is this a real glass?” she asked at the restaurant, pointing to her drink. I said yes. “Do you think it’s a new glass?” she asked. I said likely not. “Well, I’m not drinking out of a glass that other people have used,” she said, pushing it away. The next morning at our complimentary hotel-lobby breakfast, she looked approvingly at the paper plates and cups. “This is the kind of restaurant I like,” she said.
When I emerged in my wedding finery, Phoebe gasped and pointed at my legs. "Mommy, what are those?" she asked in great concern, and I explained the concept of pantyhose. We obviously don't get out much.
The girls in their finery. Phoebe being uncooperative as usual.
“That was a nice wedding, wasn’t it?” I asked when it was over.
“Yeah,” Mallory said. “Someday I’m going to get married, you know.”
“That’ll be nice,” I said.
“But I’m not marrying a boy,” she added.
“Oh? Why not?”
“Mommy. Do you really think I want to marry someone who pees standing up? Gross!”
I could think of no suitable response to that one.
Mallory showed her deep love of hotels by taking a deep breath and exclaiming, every time we entered the lobby: “Smell that hotel goodness!”
Whilst driving through the unfamiliar streets of Belmont on the way to the rehearsal dinner, Mallory spied a Burger King. “Ugh!” she said. “I hate Burger King fries!”
“Yeah!” said Chris, agreeing heartily. “Burger King fries are the worst.”
“They’re yucky!” Mallory said.
“They’re disgusting!” Chris added.
“Actually,” Phoebe interjected, “I like Burger King onion rings.”
“Now the onion rings are okay,” Chris conceded.
“Yeah, but not the fries. Ewww,” Mallory said.
“Their burgers aren’t too bad,” Chris said.
“Yeah, what I like to do?” Mallory said, “I like to get a burger at Burger King and then go to McDonald’s for fries. Cause they have the best fries.”
“When have you ever done that?” I asked, rather stupefied by this display of fast-food connoisseurship.
“Oh, you know,” Mallory said vaguely. A few minutes later, she said, “You know what? Every girl in my class likes Hannah Montana except for Jane.”
“I bet Jane likes Burger King fries,” Chris said without missing a beat, and Mallory laughed her head off.
Upon arrival at the rehearsal dinner, we gave the kids a mini-talking-to about our expectations for their behavior. “It was very nice of Millie and Warren to invite us to this dinner,” I said, “so you both need to use good manners and act nice. Understand?”
They understood. We went in the restaurant, we mingled, we found our seats. A waitress approached and asked if we needed drinks. “I’d like an iced tea, please,” said Mallory, and then said, “Thank you very much” when she received it. I patted her on the shoulder and smiled to show her I approved of her manners. She leaned over and whispered, “You wanted a good attitude? Well there you go.”
Phoebe developed an irrational fear of the painting in our bathroom:
We had to cover it with a towel for the duration of our stay.
Mallory, for her part, developed a Howard-Hughes-ish fear of germs. “Is this a real glass?” she asked at the restaurant, pointing to her drink. I said yes. “Do you think it’s a new glass?” she asked. I said likely not. “Well, I’m not drinking out of a glass that other people have used,” she said, pushing it away. The next morning at our complimentary hotel-lobby breakfast, she looked approvingly at the paper plates and cups. “This is the kind of restaurant I like,” she said.
When I emerged in my wedding finery, Phoebe gasped and pointed at my legs. "Mommy, what are those?" she asked in great concern, and I explained the concept of pantyhose. We obviously don't get out much.
The girls in their finery. Phoebe being uncooperative as usual.
“That was a nice wedding, wasn’t it?” I asked when it was over.
“Yeah,” Mallory said. “Someday I’m going to get married, you know.”
“That’ll be nice,” I said.
“But I’m not marrying a boy,” she added.
“Oh? Why not?”
“Mommy. Do you really think I want to marry someone who pees standing up? Gross!”
I could think of no suitable response to that one.
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